


dragonflies

by altraes



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Itachi shinden, Love, Non-Romance, Uchiha Itachi-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24399865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altraes/pseuds/altraes
Summary: "Do you know what true strength is, Itachi?"
Relationships: Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi/Uchiha Shisui
Comments: 20
Kudos: 60
Collections: ShiIta is Love✨HashiMada is Life





	dragonflies

Itachi breathes in.

The air smells faintly of incense. It's calming, trailing into his nose, cascading down his throat and settling somewhere snugly in his chest.

Itachi breathes out.

_Something about this place…_

He's standing with his partner Kisame outside a large temple complex. Their black coats are conspicuous bloats against the beige, cracking walls of the monastery boundary. There is a lull to the environment, a hypnotizing sleepiness that seems to imbue from the ample trees surrounding it: sakura, peach, willow, bamboo. It's dappled with mesmerizing evening sunlight and shade, with the sound of wind chimes tinkling faintly into its quietness. 

"Do you really think these monks would allow criminals such as ourselves to stay for the night?" Kisame questions him. That sentence sits heavily on the ground, looks up and waits.

Itachi blinks at it.

Monasteries and temples _are_ known to give their hospitality to weary travellers seeking shelter, but Kisame is right in a sense. This calm and peaceful environment is hardly befitting for individuals such as themselves, for members of the Akatsuki much less.

_But something about this place..._

Itachi's thumb rubs slowly against the smooth inner material of the coat, contemplatively. "It's getting dark," he reasons, “they don't need to know everything about us. We might as well make use of their hospitality, if it is offered."

His feet move of their own accord towards the thick, ancient oak doors.

"As long as we don't harm them, they have no reason to turn us away," he reaches out and knocks the large metal knocker onto the wood.

 _As long as we don't harm them…_ it flits across his mind repeatedly as he waits, _as long as we don't–_

The doors swerve open.

.

Itachi can't tell why he’s thinking about this particular memory, he has no reason to recall it right now: 

The husky light of that afternoon back in Konoha, so many years ago, even though he's standing in this twilight-licked place, miles and miles away; the murky pond hugging Nakano and the sweltering heat of the last dregs of summer, even as he walks under the coolness of the sakura trees here.

The large monastery with its half-shaded windows gazes down at him patiently.

 _"You are late,"_ he finds his eight-year-old self saying in that small window of memory, with a figment of accusation lacing his quiet voice.

For the past half-hour he'd been staring at the sky that is slowly descending into evening from the little ridge overlooking Nakano. He now looks blankly at Shisui, who's ascending a small path towards him. The older Uchiha has a smile on his lips and his black eyes look up, Itachi hopes, with slight apology. There's a cattail stalk in one of his hands, twirling playfully between his deft fingers, with the brown fuzzy head nodding this way and that.

"Sorry, 'Tachi," he says, the lopsided smile still marking his face, "I saw a cat on the way and it looked lost. So I stuck around until its owner came to get it."

Itachi raises an eyebrow and notes how Shisui avoids looking at him when he says that. He sighs, "You've never been good at lying, Shisui."

Shisui chuckles as he gazes at the horizon. "Caught me, huh? You're getting better at reading people,” he remarks.

Itachi stares curiously, noting how Shisui’s voice shifts to a more solemn undertone. "...Or I'm getting better at reading _you_ ," Itachi says. His voice sounds more quiet than he means to let out.

Shisui says nothing, still choosing to gaze at the view. His eyes look preoccupied that day. "So, why is it that you called me here?" he asks.

He doesn't explain why he's really late. Itachi doesn't press either.

"I want you to train me," he says assertively, "the _shunshin_. You had said you'd teach it to me someday."

"Oh, yeah. I did, didn't I?"

He's only half there. Itachi can tell. The other half of Shisui is left someplace else, something Itachi's a little nervous to ask about now that he sees Shisui behaving uncharacteristically taciturn that day.

"Is... something wrong, Shisui?" he finally asks.

Shisui hums in response. His hand twirls the cattail and he still doesn't look at the younger boy. "Didn't you just return from a mission, Itachi?" he questions back instead.

"Yes, but–"

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. Take it easy today, we can train tomorrow."

"But I–"

Itachi stops himself. He doesn't tell Shisui how horribly his mission had failed, doesn't tell him how one of his newest teammates had been severely injured. Itachi could've saved her, if only he'd been more alert, if only he'd been–

_I'm not strong enough…_

The cattail in Shisui's hand stops nodding. Itachi stares at the limp stalk, his heart boiling with hidden concerns and his throat clenching with concealed frustration.

"’That so, huh?" Shisui wonders aloud.

Itachi blinks. Had he said it out loud?

"Not strong enough," Shisui muses with a humorless smile, "tell me," he says, looking at him, "Do you know what true strength is, Itachi?"

Itachi parts his lips but nothing comes out. He's stopped by Shisui's smoky irises, ever shifting with hidden thoughts, always bright with a knowing smile. He knows there's more to that question than what it plainly asks.

Shisui grins for the first time that evening. "Come on," he says and turns around. The cattail flickers this way and that within Shisui's hand as he sprints down the path.

Itachi follows curiously.

.

"Shisui," Itachi begins, "please explain to me how exactly this is 'training'?"

They are in a field of long grass and cattails. The thick, humid air is buzzing with the sounds of flitting effervescence – alive, beating dragonfly wings. There are dragonflies everywhere. Shisui's sprinting around among the grass, stirring the unsuspecting dragonflies as they rest among the cattails to take to the air. He chuckles as he runs, and Itachi thinks Shisui looks like he's four rather than twelve. 

The sight makes him smile. A little.

"What? Catching dragonflies you mean?" Shisui says off-handedly.

"Yes," comes the reply from Itachi even as he tries to dodge the dragonflies that are seemingly attempting to fly right onto his face.

"Well," Shisui stops, then shrugs, "it’s more of a ‘fun activity' than 'training' but I guess it's also training if you think about it." He makes his way towards Itachi, keeping his eyes on his steps as his curls fall over his headband, "But honestly, Itachi? 'Training'? What part of 'take it easy' didn't you get?" He looks up and smiles teasingly.

Itachi raises an eyebrow, "But you'd told me you would train me as we made our way here," he countered, "that you would tell me what 'true strength' is."

It's Shisui's turn to raise an eyebrow, "Well, it depends… if it _is_ required, I _will_ teach you. So try and catch one of these first." He points at the dragonflies.

Itachi regards his friend for a long time, checking to see if he's messing with him. No. Shisui still waits, albeit with a smile on his lips.

If Itachi thinks about it, this _can_ be considered training. Possibly. Dragonflies are fast. A test of speed, perhaps? But that isn't something to be tested, not on Itachi, at least, not anymore. They both know he's fast and without the _shunshin_ in the mix, Itachi's been even faster than Shisui on some occasions.

Itachi trails his eyes to the swarm of colorful dragonflies around them. They dart from here to there, rest on cattails and hover over the pond beside them. He fixes his eyes on one that is nearby: a light red one, it's big eyes are like twin, beige pearls and its wings are flapping iridescent (lest Shisui is also testing him on little observational details like he's privy to). Itachi takes a second and his hand is as fast as light – it darts, grabs, and retracts.

He unfurls his palm and stares at it. His brow twitches into a little frown. The red dragonfly, alive and hovering a second ago, now lies crumpled on his palm. Its wings are crushed and twitching and its long, slender abdomen is bent in half. Soon, it lies motionless.

Itachi blinks up at Shisui, a hollow emptiness taking over him. It's strange because Itachi _has_ killed before. He has killed _people_ before. But this... it somehow feels more disturbing.

Shisui observes Itachi's hand and that pensive look returns to his face, "You didn't expect that, did you?"

Itachi says nothing.

"You're fast," Shisui says, taking the dead dragonfly from his hand and keeping it on the ground, "you’re strong too, Itachi. You're one of the strongest people I know."

Itachi stares at the crumpled bug. He had made sure to make his grip gentle, _But this isn't what I…_

"However, there is a marked difference whenever you use strength _with_ control," Shisui says, his black eyes peering luminously at Itachi, the way they always did when he's trying to make a point, "did you notice that all the ones around us are _young_ dragonflies? They just matured from their nymph forms," he points at the pond where more little bugs are emerging. "They're not as strong as the fully developed adults, and they’re incredibly delicate."

And like lightning, Shisui's hand darts and retracts, so quick and unexpected that even Itachi is taken aback. The older Uchiha unravels a little dragonfly held gently but firmly by its slender abdomen between his pointer and thumb. The little green bug struggles but is unhurt. "Delicate," Shisui observes, "so we should handle them with care."

_One who possesses great strength might win a fight, but one who has full control over it is undefeatable._

With that realized thought, Itachi is left in subspace, because just like that, Shisui does it again, surprises Itachi with his perception and observation skills. Beneath all the easy smiles and carelessly open laughter, Shisui is a master of technique and thought.

Itachi stares at the green dragonfly within Shisui's fingers, and he realizes the root of his earlier perturbed feelings. Losing control... Itachi _always_ has had control – over his emotions, his expressions and his skills. But he had ended up doing something without even meaning to.

What would happen, he imagined, if he killed a person because of that lack of control over his own strength? What would happen then, if he ended up accidentally harming the people most precious to him, the very people he would try to protect with his life?

A child's face comes to mind, a child with innocent, black eyes and soft, spiky hair.

All these thoughts make him shudder.

"Itachi?" Shisui's waving a hand in front of his face, "you’re doing that spacing out thing again. You alive in there?" he asks teasingly. Itachi realizes the dragonfly in Shisui's hand is gone, already freed when he'd been in deep thought.

"I... Sorry," Itachi says absently, drifting back to reality.

"Well," Shisui says resolutely, "you know what to do now." He bends and picks up two glass jars from the ground, ones they'd stopped to get earlier before they'd reached that place. He hands one to Itachi, "Here. Let's see who catches the most dragonflies in five minutes. Loser treats the winner to dango!!" he exclaims excitedly and sprints off, bounding gleefully upon the tall grass.

Itachi looks on at the other for a while, then down at the empty glass jar. He smiles and sprints after Shisui.

.

They step inside the lobby of the old but clean prayer hall of the monastery. Silence resonates from the wooden beams and wooden floors. The faint smell of incense seems to seep into him gradually like ink on paper.

Itachi unbuttons his coat slowly, absently – the black material slips off.

* * *

  
  


"I must ask for your forgiveness," the young monk sitting across them says, "visitors aren't usually allowed to dine with the other monks as the act of eating is also practiced with meditation and prayer, so you will have to have dinner in this little back room."

His shaved head shines in the candlelight, his youthful features smiling and moving gently along his smooth face like ripples on water. They are seated on small floor cushions, a single lantern alighting the room sparsely, but its flickering light is sufficient.

"However, we do try to be courteous," the monk continues, "which is why I will accompany you during dinner tonight." His hazel eyes become alight whenever he smiles.

"You've been very kind to us," Kisame remarks, and Itachi can hear the thick amusement in his partner's gravelly voice, "but I wonder what you would do if you knew who we really are. I suppose you wouldn't be so–"

"Kisame," Itachi warns sternly. 

The Kiri-nin shuts up but still has a smirk plastered over his face. 

There's no reason they should speak more than necessary, however, Kisame always has that habit of talking too much.

The monk regards them both with observant eyes. He's seated in the lotus position and his body is perfectly still. But soon he looks down, smiles softly, "We never try to interrogate our guests. Our house is home to anyone who seeks it, regardless of what they do or say, or who they are." His eyes peer at them curiously, almost with childlike wonder.

Kisame snorts at that but says nothing.

They commence eating in silence now. The little room gives a faint, damp smell of freshly cleaned tatami mats. The full moon peeks in from the corner of the open shoji door that leads into the garden outside. The only sound is of their chopsticks clicking quietly with the ceramic bowls and the occasional _ting_ of the small bell hanging from the door frame.

Itachi glances at the monk's bowl; his food consists only of a handful of rice, some beans and spruces of what looks like daikon sprouts and pieces of _tsukemono_. He wonders how such a meager meal can support the body. The monk eats at a slow, rhythmic pace too, placing the bowl securely yet elegantly above his stomach, slowly lifting the rice and chewing gradually. Perhaps it is a way of meditation, a technique that trains the mind and body to avoid eating too much.

Itachi tries not to stare at the unusual eating habit. However, as he shifts his gaze to his own food, he can feel eyes on him. They weigh down – not necessarily in a threatening way – and it makes him want to shift in place. However, he stays still.

.

Itachi doesn't need to look at Shisui to know that he's beaming down at him. "You can stop gloating now, Shisui," he says with a slight smile.

They're walking away from the dragonfly pond with jars full of the fluttering bugs.

Of course, like most times, Shisui had won their little game. It had taken a while for Itachi to get used to the delicacy of the little bodies, but fast learner that he is, he had been able to grab them without hurting them in no time. It makes his heart feel lighter. The disturbing feelings from before are gone. 

"Hey, I _am_ actually proud of this one," Shisui asserts, "I could add this to my skill-set, I guess.” He chuckles.

Itachi shakes his head with amusement. Shisui's skill-set consists of a lot more _dangerous_ skills, many of which are awe-inspiring. But he finds it amusing that Shisui would only choose to be proud of successful childish activities such as this one.

Itachi looks down at the small dragonflies in the jar; they look a little agitated and impatient. The little space must be suffocating for them. "How long will it take to get there?" he asks.

"Not long," the other replies, adding a bound to his steps.

They are making their way to an abandoned little shrine, or so Itachi assumes according to what Shisui described. Itachi doesn’t know what to think of this; he is not superstitious and does not believe in spiritual practices. The only thing that matters to him is the everyday truth that is reality. Shisui has the same ideals, so Itachi’s finding it slightly strange that they are doing this. Shisui doesn’t explain much either, despite Itachi's gentle prodding.

 _“It’s just something I did once, a long time back,”_ Shisui had said distractedly. 

That was all he said. Of course, it hadn’t been enough explanation, it was too vague and odd considering how thorough Shisui usually was when explaining things. Itachi had frowed and seeing this, Shisui placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, _“Just, for me, Itachi. Please?”_ he had said. 

There had been something quivering in the depths of his black eyes, heavy with solenmness but squirming with restlessness. It had been disturbingly momentary, because it’s gone before Itachi can even blink and Shisui masks it with a reassuring smile just as quickly. 

They are now making their way up a gentle slope in silence, both lost in thought. And as they walk, Itachi tries hard to make sense of his time with Shisui that day. They don't normally choose to waste time like this, and Shisui usually isn’t so distant and distracted either. It’s only when he’s thinking about…

Itachi purses his lips. 

"Shisui," he begins and stops momentarily. He debates on his choice of words carefully, "What you said about true strength and control. Does this have anything to do with..."

He trails off and looks up at the other questioningly. He sees that Shisui’s smiling, who replies, "Wait here.” He hands over his jar of dragonflies, gives Itachi a twinkle-eyed wink and sprints off.

Itachi stays rooted in place, a little wide-eyed and curious.

Fifteen minutes later, Shisui re-emerges from the grass and makes his way towards Itachi. But this time, however, he seems to have a small bundle on his back...

"...Sasuke?" Itachi utters.

"Nii-san!" calls out the little Uchiha, his voice shooting through the silence of the place and piercing into Itachi. Sasuke’s clinging to Shisui's back and his large, black eyes are shining. 

"Shisui-san said you were doing something cool. I want to see it too!" he exclaims, even as Shisui reaches Itachi and kneels to let Sasuke down. No sooner has the child touched the ground that he's running towards his big brother, throwing himself carelessly into Itachi's arms and hugging him tightly. Itachi takes in the sudden warmth of his body fluidly, returns the embrace, but is still a little confused as he glances at Shisui questioningly.

The older boy just grins. He takes one of the jars from the ground and gestures for the other to follow. "’Figured he’d want to see this too," is all Shisui says, “also, I thought you might want him here,” he finishes with a small shrug.

Itachi furrows his eyebrows in perplexity even as he takes Sasuke's hand in his, holds the jar in the other and follows Shisui. He wonders if Shisui is indirectly trying to stop him from asking too many questions, now that he has Sasuke as a distraction? And indeed, he does get constantly distracted as Sasuke taps at the jar gingerly, watches the bugs in wonder and asks all sorts of questions:

"How did you catch them, big brother? Do they bite? They look kind of sad, when can we free them?"

Itachi smiles down at him as he answers the questions patiently. He's aware of every facial expression Sasuke makes as he listens to Itachi attentively and notices every time the little boy squeezes his hand in between his words, as if reassuring himself that his elusive big brother is right there and still walking beside him. 

That makes Itachi smile. A little.

"There's a steep slope ahead," Shisui announces, "do you want me to carry you again, kiddo?"

Sasuke frowns at him, "Don't call me that, Shisui," he retorts, conveniently dropping the usual honorific in retaliation, "I’ve been training really hard too, so I can go on my own!” And as if to prove his point, he lets go of Itachi's hand and runs forward, his spiky hair bouncing as he ascends the slope.

Shisui’s chuckling as Itachi comes to walk beside him. "Wish I could be that care-free, you know," he confides. His eyes are fogged up when he says it. He looks at Itachi with those pensive, tired eyes and there’s a hesitant pause before he says, "Sorry I'm being so moody today, it's just that–"

He cuts himself off. Itachi waits, watching Shisui run a hand through his hair, something he always does when he's frustrated.

“It's just that, today's the day…” he's looking at his feet when he says this, and his next words drop to the ground like stones, “...today's the day he died.” 

A chill slithers through Itachi’s body. 

_So it is about this…_

He knows who Shisui’s talking about: his last best friend, the one he’d lost in the third shinobi war. It’s a delicate subject, one they don’t usually revisit. Shisui has mentioned this person only _once_ before, when Itachi asked him how he got his Mangekyou sharingan. Shisui had replied truthfully - he never lied to Itachi, not about these things - and it had been exactly one, tight-lipped and broken sentence. From this, Itachi had understood that it was one of _those_ things: he couldn’t force this door to open, but just wait for it to, little by little. 

Shisui is still looking down at their steps and Itachi stares with him, but it feels like he’s not seeing anything, doesn’t feel himself walking or the dragonflies tinkering against his fingertips. He hears, however, Shisui scoffing humorlessly.

“Of course, I had _let_ him die,” His voice is quivered with regret. “My own ambitions outweighed his life. Before I knew it, I had…”

He stops, his voice sounding sodden.

Up ahead, Itachi’s vaguely aware of Sasuke running uphill and successfully jumping over a huge boulder. “Nii-san, did you see that?!” the child exclaims.

Itachi’s lack of response prompts a pin-drop silence in the haze, despite the humming of the breeze, despite their soft steps muffled by crushed pine needles, and it solidifies when Shisui stops walking abruptly. Itachi looks back in surprise, if not, with slight worry. And there’s that stark image Itachi remembers to this day:

The sunset bleeds crimson over the sky like an open, spilling wound and half-silhouettes Shisui, who holds the jar in one arm and has stuffed his other hand in his pocket. His gaze is dark and downcast; right then, he looks like an adult rather than a child. It makes Itachi dig his nails into the smooth glass involuntarily, makes him clutch tighter at the jar as if it might slip and fall.

Sasuke has come to join them now. He’s breathless with all the running and curious to know why they’ve stopped. “Is something wrong…?” he trails off. His voice feels sublime to Itachi, far away and barred from him in this intense, solidified atmosphere they’re in, like he’s in a whole other dimension. That thought suddenly clutches tightly at Itachi’s heart with panic. He reaches for Sasuke’s hand and the child seems to do the same almost at the same time. 

Shisui’s eyes flicker momentarily to their interlocked hands but he holds Itachi’s gaze again and says meaningfully, “Itachi, you remember what I told you that night, don’t you?”

That night…

_That night–_

—when the ends of Shisui’s curls tickle his cheek as he’s being carried over the older’s back. When a path is lit with moonlight before them but it looks blurred through his tired, slightly pained vision. The warmth emanating from Shisui’s back is comforting though, the rhythm of his steady gait lulling Itachi into a sleepy stupor. And he hears Shisui’s voice saying softly: 

_“...one thing is for certain…”_

His voice is warm.

 _“I will never,_ ever _betray you.”_

And it’s then that Itachi suddenly understands Shisui’s worried expressions throughout that evening. He understands that look of bated desperation in Shisui’s eyes.

_I will never do that again, Itachi._

His vice-like grip on Sasuke’s small hand loosens with relief.

_Never to you._

And Itachi’s heart feels lighter again. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while; he feels ridiculous for ever doubting Shisui, even for a second, feels ashamed and cannot understand why he’d even had that momentary bout of panic. He collects himself though, he always does. He’s aware that he’s never been good at providing consolation to others, but he _knows_ Shisui. And for this he decides what to say, because there is only thing _to_ say–

“I know you won’t, Shisui.” 

His voice is smooth, assertive. 

A hundred more words seem to pass between their silent gazes and a smile slowly cracks through Shisui’s solemn lips. It grows and grows until it touches his black eyes and softens them, a diminishing storm hidden within limpid, still waters. 

The sharingan skies now descend into a demure mixture of soft oranges and blues behind Shisui. 

And just like that, all of them are suddenly in the same dimension again. 

Shisui’s already walking ahead now, winking down at Sasuke cheerfully, who’s been blinking curiously but has remained attentively quiet between them. And as they hike up the forested hill, Shisui says, “Thank you, Itachi.”

The soft words appear in every step Itachi takes, in the smell of the crushed pine needles beneath their steps, settle onto the wood of the trees all around them and seem to seep into–

Itachi straightens in his futon, sleepless with too many thoughts. He listens to the quiet of the night and the silence resonating from the far recesses of the monastery. The slightly ajar shoji door of their small room opens to the garden outside and seems to beckon with a sliver of silver moonlight.

Itachi gets up and makes his way outside. 

.

The wooden corridors enclosing the monastery open up to the surrounding gardens. Moonlight washes dimly over the sand-colored gravel laid neatly alongside the vegetation and illuminates the wooden floorboards before him. Itachi steps quietly over them, the old wood barely making a sound beneath his light footfalls. He’s trying to breathe evenly and deeply as he walks, trying to ease his restless mind. 

It’s after he makes a turning at a corner that he stops in his tracks – there is a monk seated on the far end of the corridor, back turned towards Itachi. Their right side is aglow with a lone lantern. Itachi thinks to turn around and head the other way so as not to disturb the meditant, but even as he’s thinking this he finds himself moving forward. He decides if he’s silent, he can possibly pass by the monk without disturbing them. 

He’s barely reached the far end of the corridor though, before the monk turns to look. Itachi isn’t really surprised when he sees the face of the young monk from earlier. He greets Itachi with a gentle smile and a nod of acknowledgement, then turns back to observe the sky – there are innumerable stars spilled across the inky blackness. 

“I haven’t had anyone accompanying me this late at night for a long time now,” the monk muses, his face and his voice both touched with a smile.

Itachi’s standing with his own face expressionless. He doesn’t respond to the monk’s words but says politely, “I’m sorry if I disturbed your meditation.”

“Oh, you didn’t. I wasn’t even meditating,” the monk replies, “well, not in the conventional sense, I should say.” He gives a close-eyed smile.

Itachi doesn’t reply to that either, not curious to know what the monk really means. He decides he should take his leave, but before he gets a chance to excuse himself the monk says, “Were our quarters not comfortable for you? If so, I must apologize,” he looks down now, closing his eyes, “although, our quarters are not necessarily built for comfort to begin with.”

“That isn’t the case,” Itachi says, “I am used to having sleepless nights.”

The monk looks at him now. Itachi’s still standing so the man has to tilt his head up. His features are smoothened with unblemished youth, but his hazel eyes… it’s as if they sink into Itachi’s gaze like heavy sand and seem to see right through him, giving the sense that he’s older than he looks. The monk turns back to the sky, a thin smile marking his face.

“Right now, the night is sleepless too,” he says, “we are not the only ones.

Silence follows.

Itachi has never been fond of words spoken by ascetics – they always seem to speak in prose and spout spiritual facts concerning the world, yet they are always far from being aware of hardcore reality, being raised in a monastery like this all their lives. Despite his usual indifference towards these things, a frown twitches upon Itachi’s brow, his mind still a surging river of too many thoughts. 

“You don’t believe me, it seems,” the monk observes.

Itachi is silent for a while before he says, “It’s not that. I know what you mean: the fact that nighttime is sleepless is true.”

The young man raises an eyebrow and turns to him with interest, “Oh?” he utters and waits for Itachi to elaborate.

“The distinction between day and night is an illusion,” Itachi continues before he can stop himself, “the night is as alive and active as the day, even more so, perhaps. Thus the distinction between separate days is also an illusion. One’s lifetime is a seamless cycle.”

The monk smiles thoughtfully, “I agree, that is a profound analysis.”

The words hang in the air. Itachi’s countless thoughts hang there as well as he observes the monk, his eyes slightly narrowed with scrutiny, “So, why would you choose to say it?”

“Say what?”

“That the night is sleepless _tonight_ . Despite the fact that you know it is _always_ sleepless, it suggests that it _isn’t_ at times.”

The monk chuckles. “You have a wonderful sense of detail,” he remarks, “most would have chosen to dismiss my comment without much thought. _You_ on the other hand…”

He looks at Itachi now and smiles.

That’s when Itachi realizes how out of line he’d been. It’s uncharacteristic for him to ramble in front of a around a person he hardly knows, especially when he knows it is a waste of time. He collects himself and tries to dismiss his behaviour. He blames it on his restlessness, on the swirling medley of memories and thoughts inside his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Itachi says quietly, “I didn’t mean to sound reproachful–”

He stops when he sees the monk shaking his head, “No, it’s fine. You didn’t sound that way to me.” He gestures to the spot beside him and says, “If you take a seat, I can tell you that the night, in fact, _does_ sleep sometimes.”

* * *

“What I witnessed that night, so many years ago, only lasted about ten seconds or so, and I still have a hard time believing I experienced something like that,” the monk begins, “but it has stayed with me since then and I keep coming back to it timelessly.

“I remember it was late at night, perhaps even early in the morning when I was meditating in a forest next to a river. But I should say I was _trying_ to meditate. I have always been easily distracted,” he smiles. “I was younger back then and more impulsive - instead of trying to let the senses flow in and out of my mind as the monks had taught me, I would try to force and control my senses, which instead flooded my mind with disappointment. It was a frustrating time.”

The monk exhales deeply.

“And, as only learned and experienced monks have attempted to do so in the past, and knowing full well the dangers that accompanied it, I decided to plunge into the forest without any possessions, in order to test my concentration even further solely because I was so frustrated with it to begin with…

“It was because I was so naive and ignorant, I believe, that I was able to forgo whatever fears I had of the forest, of its darkness and its creatures. Not surprisingly though, I was still failing miserably to focus as I kept getting distracted by the sounds of the sleepless, restless forest at night and by my own restless and impatient mind.”

The nocturnal sounds around them give chorus to the monk’s words. The nightly breeze rustles the trees around them and sifts its way into the corridor, giving it voice and movement.

The monk looks to the sky again. “It was when I had decided to give up and head back, that I noticed something had changed around me…” He blinks, his eyes fogging with memory. “Everything had gotten _dead-silent_ : the wind became still, the trees stopped swaying, the animals and insects became mute and even the river, despite the fact that I could _see_ it flowing, seemed to have slowed its flow and had gotten completely quiet.”

Itachi frowns as he hears this.

“At first, of course, I thought I was imagining it - perhaps I was too tired and that maybe my practice of inedia was working against my own mind. It is not possible for everything around me to pause so abruptly, for nature itself to stop, as if it had decided to take a nap.”

The monk pauses effectively, his gaze far away and in deep thought.

“After a few moments, however, just like that, the stillness reverted back to restless flow, and it was as if everything had woken up around me again. It was very strange, a little frightening, but equally fascinating.

“Later, I asked an elder monk about this. They simply nodded in response, saying it was strange indeed, and when I asked if they believed me, they simply said, ‘you witnessed it, did you not? Then it must be true.’”

The monk turns to Itachi, an amused smile tracing his lips, “It’s a bit jarring, isn’t it? To find that when you don’t even trust yourself completely, there is another person that believes you so easily.”

Itachi is silent to this question - a couple of faces have come to his mind at those words but he closes his eyes to them. He only nods stiffly.

The monk continues, “I know this event does not warrant so much attention. What I witnessed could have only been a strange daydream, but it made me contemplative all the same. It did not matter so much, that this incident had been true or not, compared to _what_ _it could_ _mean_.

“Nature, as we know it, keeps flowing,” he says, “nothing truly gets destroyed or ceased because things are constantly recycled and shifted around in this world. That is what we are taught and that is how it is. But imagine this: what if we acknowledge that things _do_ actually stop - _sleep_ for a while, you may say - that they cease their usual flow but shift again afterwards, and it keeps happening over and over?”

Itachi replies, “That is akin to saying time keeps stopping, which is impossible.”

“Of course,” the monk agrees, his eyes shining excitedly as he turns to Itachi, “perhaps I wasn’t being clear, forgive me. I’m not saying that time would stop. However, try and narrow time down to the smallest nanosecond and you can easily imagine that every minute thing keeps changing: a particular cell in your body ceases to be just one, but two now; a stone in the river has a few of its molecules eroded away by the water, so it stops being the stone it was before; a butterfly is no longer a caterpillar or a pupae.”

“Metamorphosis,” Itachi supplies.

“Yes! Quite aptly put. These restless changes are really numerous, even in our daily lives: some are drastic and more impactful while others are fickle and seemingly meaningless.”

“It is pointless to keep track of them all.”

“Indeed, and there is no need to either, one would go insane,” the monk chuckles, “but I suppose my point is that acknowledging they all exist sometimes lightens the burden of some big changes, or shows us the importance of change in general: something needs to stop in order for another thing to occur. Some form of slumber is required for you to start the day anew and refreshed; and perhaps the purpose of all these small changes is to show us that it can be similarly effortless, and in that way, changing becomes easier and less frightening. One only has to be attentive and open to it, even if it isn’t always easy.”

Itachi regards the other man for a long time. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asks carefully.

The monk is silent for some time, still gazing at the sky. He finally sighs. “Perhaps,” he begins, “it’s because when I first saw you, I got the impression of a closed door. Shut tight.”

Itachi’s expression hardens.

“I know,” the monk says, “I have no right to assume anything, and in fact, I am not. You can take whatever I say as baseless words, it is your choice, but I feel the need to voice it regardless, especially since we are talking about this topic of change.

“There is always a certain restlessness that we can sense on someone who’s especially going through this phase: there is something in their lives that is changing, or there is something that they would like to change in their lives.”

“And you see this in me?”

“In a way, yes. But I don’t know for sure, that is something only _you_ know,” the monk turns to Itachi with a small smile.

Itachi refuses to look at him, choosing to gaze at some point in the garden and at the darkness of the forest beyond. The trees look like formless, black creatures swaying animatedly in the breeze; they hiss softly in the silence.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Itachi says coldly, “preconceptions are delusive.”

“I agree...” the monk trails off, and, as if he hadn’t been able to grasp Itachi’s frigid reply, he continues after a beat, “looking at me now, people always assume I have been a monk my whole life. They don’t know, however, who I used to be before.”

Itachi looks back at him, his curiosity piqued.

The monk is staring down at his open palms, “... Such a long time ago,” he muses, “it's a strange life, isn’t it? You take lives, but sometimes you also protect them… the duality of your actions make it a confusing existence if you think about it.” A solemn smile touches his lips now, “I still _am_ that person, even though I have a different life now - stopping doesn’t necessarily mean forgetting. Although it can be very easy to forget, I think it is important that one doesn’t, because the past can always teach us something no matter what we face in the present or the future. And I think that is the beauty of change.”

The man turns to Itachi, his hazel eyes sharp and bright, “It is something I have come to learn over time, and I wanted to share it with you too: It is not easy to change habits, your thoughts or your life. But things often turn stale when you keep them closed up for too long. You might fill and close yourself up like a jar, but should you choose to open it and are true to yourself, you will find that the world will always receive you with open arms.”

Like heavy sand, those eyes, Itachi thinks absently. He stares at them even as something tastes bitter in his mouth when he hears these words.

The night hums and pulses around them.

He looks away and, not for the first time, wishes that the world would just leave him be.

.

.

.

The sound of crickets brings him out of his daze, their persistent chirping marking the cusp of twilight. The sunset flourishes purple-pink across the horizon, upon the glass jars, into Sasuke’s hair and under Shisui’s lips.

It splashes nitid all over Itachi’s hands and arms.

 _This place…_ he’s thinking absently.

They’re next to a pool of water at the top of the hill. A small creek waterfalls into the pool across from them and at the end of the still water, closer to them, there is a stream that bays from it and disappears into the forest. It’s a natural source, probably trailing and tumbling down the mountain to eventually join larger rivers beneath. He watches the sunset in the water, its light scintillating and melted into it; the surface ripples and stills alternatingly, as if blinking at him.

“This is it,” Shisui says with a smile.

Itachi blinks, realizing that he’d been spacing out again. He had expected they would find a shrine as Shisui had mentioned before, but not so much as a stone statue or inscription dots or borders the water. It’s weird in many ways, because he didn’t really expect to find a body of water of this size at the top of a mountain, and what’s more, while thick trees guard the pool on one side, it’s almost completely open to the sky on the other side - a queer mixture of concealment and exposure. The trees on that side are thin and sparse and Itachi can guess that there’s a view awaiting them if they only go to stand where the trees are. 

He’s gravitated towards it, can notice himself already ascending the slight incline that terminates at the sparse tree-line. He stops there, bathed in sunset, and breathes in the view. He can hear the two other people behind him clearly but does not make a move as he simply stands and gazes.

Sasuke has already made himself at home there. He takes several rounds of the pool, observes the water tumbling into and out of its body and dips his hands into it as well. Now he’s crouched on the edge of the bank, observing the clear water, “...there aren’t many fish here…” he says solemnly.

“Hm, seems like it,” Shisui responds, squatting with his hands on his knees to look with Sasuke, “that’s why we’re here.”

Sasuke looks up at the older boy in confusion.

“I _think_ , at least,” Shisui chuckles, “hey, don’t give me such a serious look. It’s scary.”

Sasuke huffs like he’s saying _‘as if’_ , “You’re not explaining it so what else should I do?”

“Hmm, how do I explain this…” the older boy trails off thoughtfully, crouching beside Sasuke and dipping his hand in the water, “Okay. So once we release the dragonflies here, they’ll make this their new home, right?” he begins.

The child nods.

“So, they will make babies here too, and because of that the fish will also get new food as they might eat some of the dragonflies and their young. And the fish' abundance will in turn attract more animals here.”

Sasuke stares at Shisui’s hand playing with the cool water.

“All that is better for the health of this place. So, I guess we’re here to help out, prevent the water in this source from stagnating. Do you kind of get it now?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke says confidently, fiddling with the grass at his feet, “we learnt something like this in school the other day.”

“Eyy, see?” Shisui grins, “your Shisui-nii is so smart. If you hang out with me more, you’ll get to learn so many things the practical way!”

Sasuke scowls at him, “You only know this because you learnt it in school yourself, so what’s the difference?”

Shisui shakes his head and sighs exasperatedly, mutters something about ‘kids these days are just too clever, how can I keep up?’

“Stop sounding like an old man,” Sasuke returns, “and besides, Nii-san is smart too. Maybe even smarter than you.”

To this, Itachi would have probably reprimanded Sasuke, told him to think before he speaks first, maybe apologize to Shisui. But he only listens and smiles in amusement, because he hears–

Shisui bursts out laughing.

– _that_ exactly. He knows the older Uchiha does not get offended easily.

“You know, kiddo, you might actually be right about that. Your Nii-san _is_ exceptional.”

Itachi sighs. Time to stop this little conversation now.

“I _am_ right,” comes Sasuke’s petulant response, “and stop calling me that.”

“Eh?? But I love using that name on my ‘Tachi’s kid brother! You both are so cute, so small yet already very talented. I can’t help but gush–”

A frown twitches upon Itachi’s brow, “Shisui,” he calls out. He tries not to sound too admonishing but doesn’t think he succeeds. However, he does find it amusing when the two boys behind him stop their chatter almost immediately at Itachi’s voice and bound towards him obediently.

“Oh wow, what a view,” Shisui breathes, his shiny, wide eyes taking in the rolling hills disappearing into the vast horizon. He smiles teasingly at Itachi, “Always a step ahead, aren’t you?”

Itachi doesn’t get a chance to ask what Shisui means because Sasuke’s tugging at his hand impatiently, pointing at the jars at their feet. The dragonflies look more listless than before; they have been cooped-up in there for too long, it seems.

“Yeah, we might as well,” Shisui agrees, already sitting on the grass along with Sasuke. Itachi follows, and after some thought, takes the jar before him and hands it to Sasuke, giving the boy a gentle smile. 

The child beams at his older brother in return, a smile so blinding and unrestrained that it dislodges something inside Itachi, making him breathless. He only notices later in a dim blur that Shisui’s pushing his jar into Itachi’s hand as well. When given a questioning look, Shisui only shakes his head and gestures with his hand to ‘go ahead’.

Itachi doesn’t exactly know what he should have expected next - what they are doing now is uncommon enough that maybe he should have expected something just as uncommon. But he also has the sense to know that they are simply opening two jars and releasing some dragonflies, a quiet and unspectacular event in and of itself.

And that is how it is: the brothers turn their jar lids – metal sliding over glass – pause, and wait for Shisui to count till three, after which they remove the lids and release the dragonflies. 

He watches the spectacle silently: the dragonflies don’t produce their own light like fireflies do, nor are they spectacularly pigmented like butterflies, but they somehow catch the dimming rays of the sun and reflect them off of their muted colors, their wings transparent but gently iridescent in certain angles in the light. They flutter around the area for a while, then eventually find the random blade of grass, rock, or cattail to land onto, after which their vertical wings open incrementally in sharp angles – four times – before they finally rest flat.

It’s quiet. None of them has said a word. 

Itachi watches Shisui resting his weight on his hands as he gazes at the view. Itachi can’t see the older Uchiha’s expression clearly, but he hasn’t forgotten what Shisui confided to him earlier. It makes Itachi wonder what this all really means, this evening, this place… But he decides not to ask, not right now, at least.

He’s distracted from his thoughts when he feels Sasuke shifting beside him. The little boy is also surprisingly quiet, but Itachi notes his bright pair of eyes, his expression smiling and luminous. He looks on interestedly as Sasuke leans his weight on Itachi, his pointy elbow digging into his thigh.

Itachi smiles, perhaps a little wider than he usually permits himself to.

It feels peaceful, this moment. He clears his thoughts and allows his body to relax into it, as if it’s sighing with release. He closes his eyes to the last rays of sunlight before he lets himself fall into this warm, quiet haze.

Itachi breathes- 

.

Why couldn’t it be this way, he wonders:

_You might fill and close yourself up like a jar, but should you choose to open it and are true to yourself, the world will always receive you with open arms._

Itachi is silent as he mulls this over. There is a part of him, he realizes, that is still not dead, this small and desperate part of him that wants to believe in these words. However, the world has taught him and _showed_ him thus far that that is not how reality works. It is perhaps because he has pondered over so many faces the world and its people have taken and could take, all the different possibilities and scenarios to expect, that he has been able to create such elaborate _genjutsus._ In that way, it's ironic how reality itself is his inspiration for these _genjutsus_. And why shouldn’t it be, he thinks - the two are never completely separate from each other because one wouldn’t exist without its opposite, like light and shadow. But sometimes, reality itself seems to be false, with fantasies and lies bleeding all over it, polluting it. It is something one cannot trust completely.

How can one choose to open any part of themselves in a world like this? 

“That is a naive assumption,” he remarks, “the real world is not a kind place. There is no guarantee that everyone or anyone would be so accepting.”

“Oh, but should we have to concern ourselves with the _whole_ world?” the monk responds.

Itachi looks at his face and really does frown now, “What do you mean?”

The monk smiles, “Think of it this way: the ‘world’ we know of can come in two parts - the one which is Earth and everything in it: cities and countries, rivers and mountains, animals and people. In other words, the _entire_ world. And I believe this is the one you were referring to earlier.

“The second one is more intimate, it’s the one within the sphere of your life: your guardians, friends, teachers, your childhood, your everyday routine and coworkers, your past, present and future, and of course, your thoughts. This one is _your_ world.”

The monk pauses thoughtfully for a while, then says, “I suppose for most people, for everyone actually, the latter is really what matters most. Even for those who want to change the entire world, they do it based on the ideas they get from their own ones, don’t you think?”

Itachi doesn’t respond. 

The young man smiles kindly, “The world does not have to start big, it does not have to be too complicated; a simple farmer can be happy and content with the small land he has and his small family, a leader can still be unsatisfied even if he has the whole country at his feet. It is all a process of moving between these two, merging or disconnecting them as you see fit, to see which world you want, maybe a bit of both? It is wise to take care of when and how to view things objectively, or intimately. And so, all this boils down to a matter of choice – to see what is most important to you and open yourself to it.

“So ask yourself, what is _your_ world to you?”

They sit in silence now. The darkness of the night flickers with the light of the lantern. Soon, the monk hums and with a short exhale, stands up, “Forgive me, I’m preaching,” he almost looks a little embarrassed, “I know how boring it can get, I still tend to fall asleep sometimes when the elder monks here give lectures.” He lets out a soft, sheepish laugh. He rocks back and forth on his feet a couple of times which reminds Itachi of something a child would do.

“I must retire now. It was a pleasure talking to you.”

Itachi nods out of courtesy, his mind still distracted and restless.

Seemingly unaware of Itachi’s internal turmoil, the monk smiles, gives a short bow and turns to leave. “Oh, yes,” he says again, stopping to look back at Itachi, “you know, it was _very_ interesting what you said earlier, about one’s lifetime being a seamless _cycle_.”

Itachi blinks in confusion, but before he can ask questions, the monk bids him goodnight and walks away.

Itachi realizes only later that the man had left his lamp behind. After a while, he extinguishes the flame. The darkness that swallows him is comforting somehow, like the light itself had had some kind of weight in it, which has now been lifted from his surroundings and himself. 

Itachi looks to the sky in this darkness. He thinks he can see the stars better this way.

* * *

“May I ask why you have lit a fire, when we are embroiled in the middle of a war?” Nagato asks. His aged voice sounds thin and rough, reminding Itachi of the texture of threadbare fabric.

Both of them are reanimated corpses now, under the effects of the _edo tensei_ and under control of whoever has cast it. They do not require the warmth of the fire, but they are seated around one nevertheless, within a small canopy of a woods even as the fourth great war rages around them.

It’s generally unwise to light a fire under such circumstances, they might be under attack as enemies could notice the light or the smoke. But Itachi is no longer worried about such things – they don’t even need to think and expend any energy to deter their attackers anymore as their bodies are but mere puppets under the control of someone else. If anything, he should probably douse the fire for the sake of their attackers rather than for themselves.

He watches Nagato lean against a tree opposite him with his crippled legs stretched out and almost touching the flames. Had he been alive, his feet would have been burnt by now. But of course, they can’t _feel_ anything anymore, which leads back to that question of why Itachi would choose to light this fire, when its warmth can no longer touch them.

He remembers asking a similar question to Shisui once, under a dusky sky, next to a small fire and with the smell of roasted fish wafting around their space. The memory fills him with warmth, even if he cannot feel it physically from the fire anymore.

“I see no significant reason as to why I shouldn’t light it,” Itachi decides to say.

Nagato smiles (a bit amusedly, perhaps), “I can respect that. Forget I asked, then.” He crosses his feet at the ankles. “Do you have any more ideas on how to break this _jutsu_?”

“The same as before,” Itachi states, “by changing the will.”

It is the only thing the _edo tensei_ hasn’t been able to touch on its victims. Even if motor control over the body is divested, the mind and heart are rendered untouched – knowledge, memories and feelings are not manipulated or overwritten. So ultimately, the willpower that is originally supposed to drive the actions is largely unsullied, albeit suppressed.

This, Itachi realizes, is this particular _jutsu’s_ weakness and why it is so flawed – one cannot hope to completely govern someone else unless they can govern their minds, and one should not sully the dead, by bringing them to life and manipulating their actions. He had conjectured that somehow tapping onto the will is more or less the key to breaking this _jutsu_ . The same could be said about the source, the _jutsu_ -caster – for a technique like this, something that connects to so many souls and lives, it is better and safer to _alter the source_ rather than to destroy it completely.

Nagato falls into contemplative silence for some time, “Yes,” he says, “I do agree with you, however, it is too complicated to even begin unraveling something like that.”

“Which is why it is best to take it a step at a time. We have the location of the _jutsu_ -caster, at least.”

“But how do we break free from their hold to begin with?”

Itachi falls silent. He doesn’t know.

The smoke of the flames rises and dissipates under a starry night, elements of nature unfazed by the trivial discrepancies in human society.

Nagato sighs, “It’s something we never expected after death,” he says, “to be brought back, I mean. This reanimation is wrong in many ways… but I can’t deny the fact that it feels somewhat nostalgic to be back in this world, despite current circumstances.”

He licks at his chapped lips but to no avail, they still remain dry.

“It makes me wonder, if we ever had the chance to live again…”

Itachi watches the other man observantly. He’s slightly taken aback when Nagato suddenly fixes his dulled rinnegan on him. “What would you do,” he questions, “if you had the chance to live again? Not like this, of course, but to be _alive_. Would you take it?”

Itachi plants his gaze on the firelight again and finds himself slowly descending into his thoughts. It prompts him to think of a particular memory, one that his subconsciousness has led him to innumerable times, over the years, over again:

_“I have good news.”_

A middle-aged woman steps into view from the frames of darkness and seats herself across the table from Itachi. Their vicinity is illuminated by a single candle. She places a jute fabric pouch between them on the rough, wooden surface of the table and smiles amiably at him.

“Seeing that your body responded well to this new medicine in the last two weeks,” she explains, “I can positively say that your sickness can be cured.”

She produces a sheet of paper and a brush, writing the prescription on it. “I can’t say for certain that it will be eradicated completely, of course, but if you take it regularly, I believe it can be abated to a considerable extent.” She smiles at him, kind eyes squinting and crow’s feet appearing around them, “You must be very relieved.”

A thick, uninvited stillness slips into the room. Kisame is standing behind him, waiting. The woman sits before him, also waiting. And Itachi is staring at the pouch that seemingly holds his life within its threadbare, rough seams – it looks small, insignificant.

Something dense creeps up his ailing chest and dries his lips. He cracks them open-

“I would like to have the suppressants only, please,” he says.

The woman stops writing and stares at him in confusion, “You mean you want the suppressants along with this? There would be no need for them. They _do_ possess stronger painkillers, but this new medicine also has–”

“No. Only the suppressants.”

The woman is frowning now, “A-are you saying you don’t want this cure?”

Itachi nods.

Her eyes widen in disbelief, “What are you talking about? The medicine has worked fine till now with nil side-effects. If you still don’t trust it, we can wait another week or–”

“There is no need. I am grateful for your hard work and kindness,” Itachi says tonelessly, “but I do not wish to be cured.”

The woman sputters in incredulity. She tries to articulate the absurdity in Itachi’s decision even as he sits and stares emotionlessly. The candlelight hisses and flickers light and shade over her animated face in a sort of frenzied dance. In the midst of all this, Itachi hears feet shuffling behind him. “Itachi-san,” Kisame says. His voice is softer than usual, touched with hesitation, “You… you have to–”

Itachi looks at him sharply. He can’t see the swordsman’s face as the single candlelight seems unable to reach his height, but his body stills as soon as he sees Itachi’s forbidding expression. He backs away hesitantly and stays mute.

“This is ridiculous! It’s suicide!” the woman exclaims, “you don’t even have to pay me for this, alright? You can take the medicine for free, I don’t care. But please, don’t–”

“My decision is final,” is all Itachi says.

The woman starts to deflate slowly. Her aging eyes are still rapt in disbelief, but it seems like she is unable to argue anymore. With a sigh, she places some other medicine that have been wrapped in paper on the table. “Here they are, and I have no use for it, so take this too,” she pushes the pouch towards Itachi, “in case you change your mind.”

Itachi stares at it for a long time. Soon, he gathers all of it in his hands wordlessly, including the pouch. He thinks perhaps he should’ve just done that instead of outright refusing the medicine. It would have saved him the trouble of arguing, at least.

Later, after they leave the woman’s shop, Kisame calls Itachi’s name with his voice sounding uncharacteristically rough and bloodied and asks, _“Why?”_

The question drops heavily to the ground, looks up and waits impatiently.

Itachi turns away from it.

That night, he tosses the pouch thoughtlessly into the fire before he can change his mind. The lapping flames turn green with moisture and give off a faint scent of herbs and jasmine. It smells like incense.

Itachi sighs tiredly.

.

He stares at this fire now, its warmth untactile over his corpse-skin. The individual flames are in that characteristic rhythm of living and dying and living again, second after second, one after another. The arms are flailing upwards and around, as if trying to reach out and receive something.

Itachi tosses the stick he was using to control the fire into its hearth and watches it burn. How easy it is, he thinks, the act of discarding something, regardless of whether that substance is meaningless or significant. How seamless the movement is, from the second something is existent to the second it is gone forever – _stopped_ – that when you miss this small change, you lose sight of its importance.

“I would,” Itachi answers.

“Hm?”

“You asked me if I had the chance to live again, would I take it? I would.”

“Is that right?” Nagato responds, unassuming, “so you do regret that you died?”

“No.”

“No? Isn’t that contradictory to what you said earlier?”

Itachi looks at Nagato now – a burdened sharingan at a burdened rinnegan – “My death was caused, among other things, by my choices alone. My personality shaped these choices, so it is no use regretting them, or my death, because it was who I was. Everything that happened was inevitable.”

“So you’re saying you have changed _now_?”

Itachi stares at the flames before answering, taking his time, taking his words, “In theory, it should not matter whether I have changed or not, because I’m no longer alive. I am not part of the natural order of things anymore.”

“I see,” Nagato says, a tepid smile touching his dry lips, “that is why you wish to live again.”

Itachi doesn’t respond.

“It’s alright, I won’t press you to explain,” Nagato says, “you have never been one to voice everything in your head. I’m surprised you even said this much.” He shifts against the tree, sighing. “But I admire your optimism. I am someone who made so many mistakes in life, yet I like to think that I died satisfied, making the right choice in the very end, at least.

“However, I never thought about _wanting_ to live again, to give it that chance, to see if I can make better choices and follow where it would take me.”

They both settle into silence again.

This word: _Optimism._ Itachi tests it in his head, over his tongue. He doesn’t think it has ever been associated with him before. “Not everyone has to think this way,” he says.

Nagato smiles dryly, “I was merely wondering aloud.” He leans his head against the tree, looking at the starry sky, “As for myself, I am too tired to go on. I only wish to rest.” And saying this, he closes his eyes.

‘Rest’ would be ideal, indeed, Itachi thinks. Had he not been perpetually tired with his life back when he still had his own heart and body? Had he not always been physically and mentally burdened by so many things, that he wished he could sleep and never wake up?

Yet here he is in the midst of another war, and it feels like he’s fighting with two worlds at the same time: everyone around him and his own body. In life, when his body had fought him with an illness and a blindness, he had used it against himself in return, to organize his own death. He thinks that maybe this might be a retribution of sorts, because when he’s finally fighting to do the things he wants to do, he finds that he cannot.

And unexpectedly, but perhaps also expectedly, it’s Shisui who guides him: his _kotoamatsukami_ grants him full control over himself again, a power that formed and festered so many years ago, from a nameless, faceless friend, helping to save a war so many years later.

Itachi thinks Shisui might shake his head in disappointment, when he sees that Itachi chooses to dismiss Sasuke again when he’s given this opportunity. 

“This is something I have to do alone,” Itachi tells him, to Shisui or Sasuke, he doesn’t know.

_Please stay away from me_

_For I might destroy you even more._

There is a part of him, he realizes, this tiny wish that he always has had, that even as he forces his doors to close, there will be something or someone that pries it open, because he does not have the strength to change, to stop who he is, to wake up and be a better person, a better brother, or a friend… And he finds it fitting that Sasuke is the one who does this, _literally_ this time when he destroys the wall in Kabuto’s lair, stepping over the huge rocks to reach Itachi.

“You’re not running away from me again,” he says.

And Itachi can only smile. Really, what did he ever do to get this lucky? How could he have let himself miss this: the chance to mentor Sasuke, see him grow up; and now that he gets to do this he laps it up like a man starved, inhales the taste of it when he is but a measly corpse. He doesn’t know if it is ironic, or just cruel, that he feels more alive now than he had ever been before, now when he is already a dead man.

And here he is, dying a second time.

_“Why?”_

It’s that question again, from a different person, not even spoken out loud but Itachi sees it nonetheless, hovering all over Sasuke’s glassy eyes. He feels his consciousness already fading as he ascends, feels a sense of lightness in his entire body, a sense of loss yet gain.

_“Why…?”_

Tears are crawling out of Sasuke’s stricken face even as his eyes say, what they’ve _always_ been saying so often when Itachi has had to leave him, all these questions one after the other:

_“Why do you have to go?”_

_“Why did you have to do all this?”_

_“How did it come to this?”_

Itachi wants to say, after years of asking himself the same questions, he’s learnt that sometimes the truth is not present in asking the _why’s_ or the _how’s_ , but in simply acknowledging _what is_ . There are innumerable reasons for the why’s and countless causes for the how’s, but so often, they seem to detract one from the gift _that is_ the present. And so, Shisui’s words have kept coming back to him, over his years, under his breaths and into his thoughts - “Do you _know_ what true strength _is_ , Itachi?”

What is it now? What _is_ it really?

Itachi has never been able to put words, much less reason to it to form an answer. But he thinks, perhaps it is one of those things that is only felt and accepted, just like sunlight and rain, and by doing so you somehow _know_ what it is without having to question or reason with it. And so he wills himself to acknowledge it without question, and it’s relieving to be able to think this way, to accept this simple yet beautiful truth:

Sasuke in front of him, his eyes wide open, a boy who once used to throw himself at his big brother without reserve (he still does) and who used to smile so brightly at Itachi. A boy who can no longer smile like that again.

_You don’t ever have to forgive me._

A boy who still chased after him, demanding the truth even when he knows how elusive and untruthful his big brother is. A boy who never gave up on him, in one sense or the other. Really, Itachi is _so_ lucky. How could he have ever thought of taming this, when all he should have done was accept it and indulge.

And he lets himself do it, with their foreheads pressed together, like it should have always been.

_No matter what, Sasuke..._

He smiles and parts his lips, _gently_ so:

“I will love you. Always.”

* * *

There is that distant, resounding sound of a jar’s lid turning open, somewhere in the depths of his memories, followed by that of flitting wings against glass and eventually, wings against the air. Itachi finds his floating consciousness returning and waking, as if from a dreamful and deep sleep. He feels unhurried and strangely not as disoriented as he would have imagined. 

The _afterlife_ , the _otherside_ – whatever the term is – had he still been his old self, he would have expected it to be a void of darkness, a place where he could drown and never escape, because that was what he thought he deserved. This is different though, nice even, because he feels warm and his surroundings are illuminated with a gentle kind of dimming light. He can feel the weight of it covering his body as if it were a thin, warm blanket.

Again, if it had been his old self, he would’ve been confused, already asking the necessary questions in his head: _where is that hell? That punishing silence that he’d always sought out and yet had wanted to stifle at the same time?_ – even as he would desperately try to look around for any sign of understanding from his surroundings. 

But he’s different now, yes, all he thinks is that he _knows_ this scent and this warmth beneath him. It smells like fresh grass and pine and perhaps a hint of sweat. He feels the tufts of feather-like curls tickling his cheeks and the familiar strong and broad back beneath his chest, warm and lulling in this steady motion, like that of a rocking boat over rippling, still water.

Yes, waking up to _this_ makes sense. 

Itachi smiles, overcome with relief and tightens his hold around the other, burrowing into the comfort even more. Gods he had missed this…

“You’re awake,” Shisui says, looking back slightly. It’s only then that Itachi realizes Shisui is younger, reverted to his adolescent self even as he himself is a child once again. He can hardly complain. This feels pleasant no matter what body he is in.

“Got me a little worried there, y’know,” Shisui’s saying, “you should rest when we get back.”

Itachi wants to laugh a little – he’s amused that Shisui would worry even at this point, when they are here, wherever _this_ is. But he feels only half-awake now and decides to rest instead, so Itachi only nods in response.

“Don’t I always tell you to take it easy, Itachi?” Shisui chides. 

Itachi smiles and closes his eyes, “I intend to do so now.”

Shisui hums, as if still not entirely convinced. 

They walk some more in silence. Soon, he can feel Shisui turning his head again, as if he wants to say something. However, there’s a voice beside them–

“Nii-san, are you okay?”

And the calm gets shattered around him. Itachi’s eyes snap open and his body stiffens like ice. It feels like his insides have been yanked down and frozen in the pit of his stomach. All he can think is _No, no, no no_ … 

Both Itachi and Shisui are dead, and they are ‘here’. Sasuke isn’t dead though, he had made certain of it. He _can’t_ be dead.

But sure enough there he is, walking right beside them, little Sasuke with his eyes glittering with concern as he looks up at his big brother’s stricken face. 

“Eh, ‘Tachi, you’re kind of choking me here,” comes Shisui’s strained voice.

Itachi’s hardly aware of it, or the fact that he’s slowly lowered down. Both Shisui and Sasuke settle on the grass before him, gazing at him in confusion and worry, because Itachi has started hyperventilating. His wide eyes are stuck on Sasuke, like he’s seeing a ghost, even as his mind works at a hundred synapses per second. 

The last thing he remembers… he remembers finally being free of the reanimation and seeing Sasuke’s sixteen-year-old face for the last time. Itachi had died after that and there is no question, which is why he is _here_ with Shisui. That is why it’s over, there is nothing more he can experience any more. 

However, seeing Sasuke now, also _here_ … None of this makes any sense. He wonders, deeply distraught and frantic, if this is some sort of cruel hallucination his mind has conjured. He desperately fights to sift his way through these confusing thoughts - there is only one thing he needs to know that can clarify all this.

He turns to Shisui, he always has. 

“We aren’t…” Itachi begins, but swallows his words down a sandpaper throat. He realizes he is hesitant to know the truth now, is too tired to deal with any more cruel surprises.

“We aren’t dead,” he finally utters.

It’s a statement, a question. A necessary exhale.

Shisui holds Itachi’s gaze for a long time. His expression is indescribable, somewhere between careful and concerned, but his dark eyes flicker into something gentle.

“We aren’t dead, Itachi.”

Shisui never lies to him... he’s thinking this over and over even as he hears his own voice saying it an age ago: _One’s lifetime is a seamless cycle._ And at once, it feels like he can understand it but cannot reason with it at the same time. 

Then, a movement suddenly catches his eye: a dragonfly settles on a nearby cattail. It unfolds its wings sharply and incrementally as the reed quivers underneath it. He trails his eyes back to the pair before him, and Itachi finally notices the empty jars Sasuke has before him, ones he had strived to fit within his small arms as they had walked back home.

_Home._

_This place…_

He recalls it now, a day from a lifetime ago – his skin is still covered with the dust and sweat of a freshly completed mission, his fingers are littered with cuts from sharp reeds resulting from an afternoon of catching dragonflies. 

He had fallen asleep after they had opened the jars. 

And right now the sky is touched with the last rays of a dying sunset which are curled all over the strands of Shisui’s hair and cradled under Sasuke’s spikes. The child’s small hand holds Itachi’s firmly; it’s warm and alive, still soft and unhardened by weapons. He gazes at Itachi with wide, quivering eyes. 

This is when Itachi realizes he has been sobbing heavily, thick tears washing down like a river from his eyes. The two other boys watch him silently even as he curls up and spills before them. He welcomes this pain. He welcomes this relief...

There would have been a time, he thinks, when he would have questioned everything. Right now, he doesn’t, because it is what it is: he can see these two people in front of him and they belong to him again, as they always have been. He can have his parents again, he can live in his home again, and all this, even as his mind and heart possesses a lifetime of memories of destroying them. 

_Never again._

There would have been a time when he would have never let Sasuke see him cry. But that evening, the child has seen Shisui and Itachi struggle with things that are both within and without. He doesn’t understand it, but he will in time because he has to see them eventually, because it is what it is. 

“You never told me,” Itachi says breathlessly, his voice thickened with sobs, “you never told me what true strength is.”

The evening breeze whispers past him. Shisui tucks his hair behind an ear.

“I think you already know,” he answers. 

Itachi smiles. He takes their hands in his, presses them to his forehead and bathes them with his tears even as he nods. He _knows_ , of course he knows, and in this world, _his_ world, he thinks it is enough. It is more than enough.

The air is scented with his tears and it cascades tremblingly into his chest. But unlike any other time before, it feels like something inside him will stay open, _blissfully_ open.

Itachi breathes in.

.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this after I read Itachi shinden, although it's more accurate to say that I was dissatisfied by it actually, so writing this was a way to appease myself. This work has been a source of constant comfort to me in the past few years I have worked on it. In that way, I find that I'm reluctant to part with it, even though finishing it also felt like such a necessity.
> 
> I understand that this is a difficult story to enjoy. I don't know if it will be able to touch people, but I really hope that some part of it will resonate to at least a few.
> 
> Thank you for reading 🎐  
> <3 S
> 
> [animation](https://twitter.com/altraes/status/1285879007305584641)


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